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She left glitter in his AC vents. He put green dye in her conditioner.

She buttered his bathroom floor, and he kidnapped her precious puppy.

Layla Mullens hates Donovan Donley. His crude language, his wide shoulders, his crystal blue eyes…she hates that she can’t stop herself…from kissing him or landing in his bed.

And Donovan Donley wants nothing more than to knock Layla off her princess pedestal. He hates her stuck up attitude and her soft, tempting lips. He especially hates that her father is his coach.

But he’s fine with their arrangement—act horrible to each other during the day, attack each other naked at night. It works.

But one night changes everything. When Layla doesn’t show, and Donovan’s cold bed stays empty, the lies he tells himself to keep Layla out of his mind aren’t enough to keep him from missing her. And needing her. Something he promised himself would never happen.

The white flags in their prank war have been lowered but their high stakes battle has just begun.

“Come here,” he said, wanting her, just then, but knowing that she needed a moment to calm, to have those worries so evident in the slow way she moved toward him, eased. He let her come to his side, right against his chest and for the first time, Donovan held her tight against him. “I’m not the kind of guy you need.” She sat up, looking at him. “I’m no Prince Charming. I’m not good for anyone and I doubt I ever will be.”

“So do you want this to end? You have doubts?”

He hated the idea of never touching her again. He hated that being without her touch, her taste, would bother him greatly, and if he were a better man, a stronger man, a decent man at all, he would tell her to go. Donovan knew that if he were the kind of man he once was, before betrayal and disappointment fractured whatever he thought he might want one day, then he’d thank Layla for her time and attention and tell her his doubts were too great, that their moment had passed.

But this Donovan was a selfish bastard on his best days. Still, he’d give her something, likely not what she deserved, but something he’d never given to any woman. Ever.

“If I said I didn’t care about you, that would be a lie. I do. Am I in love with you?” He waited, measuring her expression, relaxing when she didn’t look afraid. “No, sorry, I’m not. But I like the way we move together. I like that I can get lost in your body.” I like the way I can still smell your perfume on my pillow after you leave, he said to himself. “I like that you let me do things to your body that I’ve only ever dreamed about.” I like how free you are with me. How beautiful you look when you’re underneath me, falling to pieces. “I like that you don’t ask for anything but my body, for the way I make yours feel.” I love how you let me take you, let me love you like we won’t have another second of this in life.

Eden Butler is an editor and writer of New Adult Romance and SciFi and Fantasy novels and the nine-times great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum. Her debut novel, a New Adult, Contemporary (no cliffie) Romance, “Chasing Serenity” launched in October 2013 and quickly became an Amazon bestseller.

When she’s not writing or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden edits, reads and spends way too much time watching rugby, Doctor Who and New Orleans Saints football.

She is currently living under teenage rule alongside her husband in southeast Louisiana.

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— Birthdays —

On this day, December 9, in 1608, John Milton was born in London, England. Author of the epic poem "Paradise Lost", Milton was a fiery advocate of republicanism (the belief that heads of state should not be based on heredity), and was a civil servant to the Commonwealth of England under Oliver Cromwell, but it was later, during the Restoration, that he completed most of his best known works. Although he was celebrated internationally, when he dictated "Paradise Lost" to his aides (due to blindness most likely brought about by glaucoma) he was impoverished and ignored in England, remaining unrepentant in his views and beliefs. He died in 1674 at age 65 of kidney failure.